The Lesser Sutras
by may flyer
Summary: A collection of Avatar: The Last Airbender drabbles.
1. Straightforward

**Straightforward**

Mai has the target in her line of sight. It's too easy to be interesting. The arrow points directly to his frontal lobe.

"I'm ready," she states, shifting within the sniper's nest.

"This is it, Mai," Azula grins; a predator baring her teeth. "We can keep a brain-damaged Avatar alive and neutralized for fifty years."

"Yes."

"You can have my pathetic brother. You can have anything you want, so long as you don't miss."

Mai's dart flies true. Screams echo up from the square, and Ty Lee moves in to snatch the body. All as Azula planned.

How disappointing. Still bored.

* * *

_Author's Note/Disclaimer_: Still don't own Avatar: The Last Airbender. Curses.

This drabble written for theavatar100lj, on Challenge #53: Line


	2. Samadhi

**Samadhi**

When Aang was young, Monk Gyatso required that he spend the dawn hours reverently reciting the shanti mantra. Aang had resented it. The other boys got to race in the dewy morning grass, while Aang was forced to mouth six lines until they were engraved upon his soul.

Now Aang is older. Every day he is introduced to new bending katas, only to find them achingly familiar. The Avatar's limbs are guided by lives that he has forgotten.

Aang finally understands the gift that Monk Gyatso gave him.

Repetition is not a burden; it is love.

_Om shaantih shaantih shaantih._


	3. Apples Fall Far

**Apples Fall Far**

On Princess Azula's sixth birthday, the General watched his niece spin tiny comets across the garden. Her father had bought expensive fireworks for the occasion. Azula was determined to outshine them all.

The Princess made it look easy. For her, it was. Every success brought new confidence in the rightness of her mastery. Azula was fire for the fuel.

The General had been much the same at Azula's age. He had been born to ther power of the throne. It was unquestioned and unquestionable. Destiny demanded that the Dragon of the West reforge the world in his image. People like them were the Fire Nation's bright future, and fortune dared not raise her hand against them.

When Azula finished her kata, the General clapped along with the rest of the court. It was a great honor for the child. He considered greeting his nephew as well, but was distracted by the sticky-sweet smell of lychee, and Lu Ten's easy smile.

Years later, a frustrated young woman asks Iroh what he sees in Zuko. She wonders if Iroh is trying to nurture some small fragment of himself in the boy.

Iroh pours his tea. He mentions that Zuko was never given fireworks on his birthday. The young woman frowns, disappointed, and spends the rest of their luncheon pouting into her cup.

Zuko is nothing like Iroh.

That is why Iroh knows his nephew will not be defeated.

---

_Author's Note_: This is not your traditional hundred-word drabble, but I had nowhere else to put it.

Woe!


	4. Negative Space

**Negative Space**

Lightning is a delicate thing. Zuko should be able to grasp bolts in his palms, but his movements hold too much force. He tears through the subtle polarities of energy as though they were tissue. All efforts explode in his face.

That's how Zuko knows he'll never be Azula, in any of the ways that matter.

Uncle brews a pot of tea once training is over. He makes a sly joke while pouring. The moment stretches, pulls taunt, and falls slack, before Uncle finally recovers the rhythm of his monologue.

That's how Zuko knows he'll never be Lu Ten, either.

---

_Author's Note_: Written for theavatar100lj, challenge #55 - Joker.

Yes, I_ am_ a contrarian.


	5. Strange Little Girl

**Strange Little Girl **

When the Young Mistress turned five a caretaker was assigned to watch her roam the compound grounds. Under no circumstances was the Young Mistress to be allowed near water, wildlife, or sharp-edged bushes.

The caretaker expected her to run around and make his life hell. Instead the child sat and ran her fingers across the grass.

Concerned, he asked what she was doing.

"Playing with my friends," she stated, smiling.

Two gopher-rabbits jumped out of a burrow that he could have sworn wasn't there before. Young Mistress stared her creepy blank stare.

The caretaker did not question her leisure again.

---

_Author's Note: _Written for theavatar100 at lj. Challenge #56 - Animal.

"Strange Little Girl" is my favorite Tori Amos song, in spite of the fact that it's a cover.


	6. Chosen

Chosen

It was the Festival of the Solstice. Young noblewomen of a certain age were to be introduced to Prince Ozai's household. Primped and pampered little girls were ushered before he royal family by hopeful parents, their nerves concealed behind gilt and kohl.

The young Princess giggled and whispered in her father's ear. Her brother looked bored.

At the end of the reception all of the guests were invited to the great hall of the western palace. Two of the children were singled out and snatched up by gracious servants, like prize kittens from the litter. They took their places behind the Princess' throne - handmaidens.

One girl looked like she'd prefer to melt into the wall. The other girl grinned, for all that her eyes were too wet and too bright.

"Don't worry!" Ty Lee whispered, as quietly as she could, because her new companion wasn't saying anything and Ty Lee needed to hear the words. She reached out behind the throne, impulsively, and squeezed the pale girl's hand.

Mama and Papa were happy, _so happy_, even if they looked very far away in the crowd. Ty Lee had to be happy for them too. Mama said that so long as you did your duty you should be happy no matter what. Being sad was a terrible burden on everyone.

"We're in this together."


	7. Weight of the World

**Weight of the World  
**

Yue swims through the neverending night. Her mass is unwieldy, the darkness thick and brackish, and she must be nimble. One deviation from her course and she could be dashed to death upon a reef of stars.

Yue sees the horizon above her pond with the same eyes that survey the curve of the earth below her. Her burden is her anchor and her anchor's fathoms deep.

Yue recalls the sensation of laughter deep in her belly, and skin beneath her mittens, and the salty tang of blubber. That life was a reflection.

Yue carries the weight of her world.

---

Author's Note: Written for theavatar100 on LJ. Challenge #58 - Baggage.


	8. The Adversary

**The Adversary**

Harsh winds lashed at the Fire Lord's robes. Ozai had to fight to keep from being blown off the cliff-top and into the sea. His adversary hovered above him.

"This stops here," the boy intoned. Only it wasn't a boy, it was the Avatar – immortal power overflowing from a fragile pubescent vessel. Those ancient eyes looked through him, stripping away everything Ozai had strived for until only his crimes remained.

Ozai's fleet battled on in the distance. Chief Arnook's Waterbenders were in their element, but Fire Nation technology upset their traditional advantage. The Fire Lord knew that the strength of his people lay in their determination to overcome fate. He himself had never settled for what destiny allotted to second-born sons.

"You presume to judge me?" Ozai shouted, defiant.

This _thing _that challenged Ozai could not have any concept of human struggles or triumphs. It glowed with the detachment of infinite power, as cruel and selfish as any force of nature.

Every human was allotted a single lifetime to make their mark upon the world, but one lifetime must be trivial to an entity born hundreds of times over.

Ozai was only a man.

He was born to fight.

"I won't allow it." Ozai twisted his hands into claws and raked the air.

"You don't have the _right_!"

Ribbons of magma spiraled up behind the Fire Lord. The Avatar charged.

---  
_  
Author's Note_: Titling stories is the bane of my fanwriting existance.

Written for theavatar100 lj. Challenge #59 - Judgement.


	9. Without Shape

**Without Shape**

Sokka called the bird a storm petrel, and said that it should not have come so far inland on its own. The siblings were excited because it might have arrived with a fleet, following fragments of the Southern Water Tribe sailing into Ba Sing Se. They took some nuts from Aang's provisions and decided to try and coax it down from the sky.

To Toph, the petrel was nothing but a collection of threatening buffeting noises beyond her perception. Her tutors had helped her trace the outline of a bird, once, and she knew the feel of feathers quite well, but this new creature was very different from the tame parakeets whose claws occasionally alit in the manor gardens.

It could be like the monsters that pursued them in the desert. It could be anything. Threat without measure. Form without shape. A predator from the abyss above.

Finally, she'd had enough.

"It's only a dumb bird," Toph snapped, hurling a large chunk of dirt in the direction which the others were facing. The petrel made a large, unearthly caw, the likes of which should not come from any animal muzzle. There was a rushing sound which Toph recognized to be flapping. It wouldn't be coming back.

Good.

Toph heard Katara making that clucking, matronly noise in the back of her throat that made Toph want to pitch her off the next cliff and call her Sugar Queen until she started acting like a _real_ kid again and not this puffed-up know-it-all Waterbending Master that thinks she can be anything like Toph's mother.

Toph was _no one_'s little girl.

"It wouldn't have taken long," Aang rebuked Toph, softly, before he remembered how fragile the connection between them really was. Things had been said in the desert which could not be unspoken and it was clear to the Earthbender that she'd never have the place at the Avatar's side which Katara and Sokka claimed so effortlessly.

Hmph. Whatever.

"Um, it's okay, though! There's plenty of food around here. She'll be fine." Aang's heels sunk low into the loam, acquiescing. It made Toph uncomfortable when Aang wore his weight that heavily. Stupid Twinkle-Toes.

"It'll have to toughen up if it wants to make it to Ba Sing Se," Toph said sharply. "Same with you, if you want to keep Earthbending."

As far as Toph was concerned that was the end of it.

---

_Author's Notes_: Written for theavatar100livejournal, Challenge #61: Storm Petrel. The storm petrel is a sea bird that is thought by some to be a bad omen.


	10. Ephemera

**Ephemera**

Their meeting, when Mai finally stumbled upon him, was more than a little surreal. Azula burned to cast long shadows and Mai had lurked in every one. She was not used to sharing.

The contents of a wanted poster leered at her in the half-light. Mai shifted on the balls of her feet so that she would not lose her balance on the rafters. A throng of Earth Kingdom aristocrats chatted obliviously below them, drunk on pomp and circumstance. Their sandalwood perfume and aged rice wine bespoke such ordinary luxury that Mai paid the gathering little mind.

The Blue Spirit crouched low with swords at the ready. Mai trailed the tips of her manicure across the inside of her sleeves.

They both leapt at the same time. Knives flew. Swords flashed. Steel slid sinuously against steel. There was no thunderous clash of armaments. It was over almost before it began, which was the way of such things in the places where benders did not tread.

Mai ended their conflict two stilettos lighter and three support beams closer to Long Feng than she'd been thirty seconds before. If she'd hit the Blue Spirit he did not show it. In the background, someone important told a rather banal joke and his corner of the room erupted into laughter.

"Who are you, really?" Mai asked.

"A ghost," the bandit replied, after a moment's deliberation. His voice was scratchy and hollow like the inside of a mask.

Mai watched the Blue Spirit slip out into a service hallway. Chasing around rabble was not a fitting activity for a lady of Mai's station – especially not when it would compromise her intelligence-gathering mission.

Life went on below her.

"Me too."

- - -

Author's Note: Written for theavatar100lj, challenge #65 – "half sick of shadows".


	11. Philosophia

**Philosophia**

This woman, Sokka knows, will not fade against his lips into the idea of a girl. Nothing about her recalls the bitter taste of rice powder. Her breath does not hitch when he runs his fingertips along the back of her neck, nor is her hair long enough to tickle the tip of his nose.

Each and every time is different. The scholar in him has catalogued them all.

It's a foregone conclusion that he'll stay for the night if she wills it. Permutations and possibilities never cease to enthrall him.

Sokka's favorite kisses are always yet to come.

- - -

_Author's Note_: Written for hobviouslylj, who requested "Sokka's favorite kiss".


	12. Pax Flammarum

**Pax Flammarum**

Azula coils and twist her body through the ritualized motions of the kata. This form is supposed to simulate a stylized battle, but the only enemy for her flames to vanquish here is the rapid approach of nightfall.

The light fades from Azula's fingertips as soon as she finishes the pattern. Now that her mind is no longer in lockstep with her body, she is uncomfortably aware of the sweat stinging in the corners of her eyes. Her knees ache, her sleeves chafe, and all she can smell is ozone.

"Well?" Azula demands of her elderly teachers.

"Close," one begins.

"But not yet," the other finishes.

"Then we do it again," the young princess declares. She'll be very late for dinner, but that's no trouble, because the servants are not allowed to feed Mai and Ty Lee until she arrives.

Azula takes a deep breath to clear the smoke from her lungs, before returning back to starting stance. Stale air flares to life. The lengthening shadows retreat from her presence.

One day, Azula thinks, she will rule an empire so vast that the sun will never set on it at all.

She imagines that must be what peace feels like.

- - -

_Author's Note_: Azula's training session in The Avatar State has always intrigued me, because it shows that her devilish perfection isn't as effortless as she makes it look. It's one of the few scenes where she seems geniunely human.


	13. Outre Couture

**Outre Couture**

Mai loathed her Kyoshi Warrior uniform. Everything about the islanders' distinctive apparel seemed calculated specifically to offend her aesthetic sensibilities. Their face-paint congealed into a thick, disgusting, pore-clogging film. The padded apron made her feel as though she were wearing an ill-conceived turtle-duck costume for a children's party. Closed sleeves chafed at her wrists. Fans were useless dead weight, compared to the cold steel simplicity of a few good razorblades. Worst of all, the overall color scheme appeared to have been inspired by something that the original Avatar Kyoshi had drunkenly vomited.

Unfortunately, necessity cared little for Mai's fashion preferences. For the past three weeks the honorable Fire Lord Zuko had been hammering out a tax reform plan with senior members of the Court. Over the course of those weeks his mood had gone from stately, to surly, to completely insufferable. Frazzled members of the palace staff had embarked upon a conspiracy to leave tubes of white cosmetics in strategic locations around her quarters. Mai knew what had to be done.

She opened the door to the Fire Lord's study without bothering to knock. Starched green skirts swished against sturdy combat boots.

"Out!" Zuko snapped, testily. "I am not to be disturbed."

He did not tear his gaze away from his work. His desk was littered with ragged draft scrolls and half-full cups of cold tea.

"I don't think so. I'm not under your orders," Mai said, once she was certain that that door was closed firmly behind her. Then she snapped one of those idiotic fans open and tried not to feel ridiculous.

It helped that, as soon as he raised his head from his papers, the furrow in Zuko's brow melted away entirely. He looked four years younger and far too hopeful.

"You shouldn't be here," Zuko exhaled. He set his scroll down, scraped his chair back, and then stood.

"Will you summon your guard, Fire Lord?"

The Fire Lord slowly, deliberately advanced upon her position. Candles guttered. There was a noticeable flare in the fireplace.

"No. But infiltrators _will_ be dealt with."

Mai had to admit to herself that, as much as she hated her Kyoshi Warrior outfit, she never got bored of wearing it.


	14. Vinaya

**Vinaya**

The Abbess ordered Lhakpa to shepherd the younger children to the Temple's inner sanctum, once the Firebenders deployed their strange metal canons. It had been hoped, at first, that they could all face their fate under the welcoming sky, but as the battle intensified it became clear that the girls could not maintain their composure out of doors.

Air Bison fell to Temple stonework, their bellows unable to drown out the sound of great bones cracking against the temple stonework. Pyre-smoke blurred out the sun.

_Hush. Be still. Close your eyes._

Lhakpa did as she was told. Other, more serious nuns preferred furthering their meditations to the worldly task of child-rearing, but Lhakpa had always been fond of working in the crèche. She was popular with her charges. For them, she would forsake the opportunity to die with the wind at her back.

_Remember: they cannot frighten you._

At times, Lhakpa entertained unworthy thoughts about what it would have been like to raise her own son. The Abbess had advised her that this was perfectly normal. These feelings, natural animal instincts, were a temptation into attachment and thereby an invition to suffering.

Lhakpa's son had disappeared sixth months ago, alongside their hope.

The Abbess was right to warn her.

_Fear is a construct of the self. The self is empty._

When they first arrived in the central chamber, the girls clung to her like anxious turtle-duck hatchlings. Carefully, one by one, Lhakpa had to separate them into rows. Now they sat in proper meditative posture. Legs crossed and fists locked together under the serene gaze of the great statue – Eastern Temple's first reverend Abbess.

_Release your attachments. Relinquish your fear._

Vibrations in the air whispered of approaching soldiers. They violated the Temple hallways with their carrion stink.

It was difficult for Lhakpa to eliminate her desire to fight, but she knew that she was needed here. Everything she did, from the rhythm of her breathing to the set of her shoulders, was an example for the girls to follow.

_This world is an illusion._

The flames met Lhakpa's flesh, and she dismissed the delusion of separation between states of matter.


	15. Fin de Seicle

**Fin de Seicle**

They arrive alone and without forewarning, bearing false names and scars with histories. Some bring gifts. Others wear rags. Most are taken aback when Longshot speaks, but they're happy to take directions from a man who will not converse long enough to ask questions.

Jet's grave is simple. Unadorned. Everyone knew his _real_ name, but he'd never shared the one that he was born with, for fear of breaking the spell.

Few of the former freedom fighters stay for long, and the couple does not mind when they break their promises to stay in touch. They do not come to reminisce. They are there to make sure that the dream is dead, cold and still and grown over with flowers, at rest within the earth.

Smellerbee only worries for the ones who visit twice.


	16. The Cure for Death by Lightning

**The Cure for Death by Lightning**

At first it was a comfort to hear his shallow breath, feel his stuttering heartbeat, hold her canteen to his lips and watch his adam's apple bob when he reflexively swallowed. But as the days wear on his condition pulls at her, bit by bit, until her patience frays and the whole camp starts unravelling around the edges.

Toph tears an iron cart axle into increasingly smaller pieces. Sokka learns how to prepare their food. Appa circles, their shaggy sentinel, and bellows whenever anyone brings Aang too close to the cookfire.

Together, they should be able to work miracles - raise mountains, sunder glaciers, and sway the hearts of kings. Except they can't, because he's not there, and Katara has only one technique left in her.

So she sits, and she waits, and she holds his hand, and she wills the world to flow back into place.

"Oh Aang, you've got to wake up."


	17. The Best of All Possible Worlds

**The Best of all Possible Worlds**

He bids the slave to fetch his son when he feels his heart stutter within his breast, and the gold embroidery stitched into the canopy above his bed begins to braid itself in serpentine patterns.

She protests, predictably. This servant has never been quiescent. Only Katara's inordinate talent has saved her from the hangman's noose. Her back is hunched and gnarled from strokes of the lash.

"Master, with more water to bend I can-"

Iroh shakes his head. His shaggy mane fans out across sweat-drenched pillows, and this is not the first time he has missed the dignity of his topknot.

"No, young lady. It is time for the spirits and I to make our peace."

The slave limps out of the room at a frantic pace. Had she lingered, Iroh would have told her not to hurry herself. His spirit is already at ease. He has endured a life of toil in preparation for this moment of glory. He does not regret spilling his blood in careful measures, or salting the earth with the sweat of his brow.

Iroh's grandchildren are healthy. Their kingdom is boundless. Lu Ten will be Fire Emperor, and this is the best of all possible worlds.

- - -

Author's Note: My personal fanon is that prior to Lu Ten's death, Iroh was not at all the enlightened fellow we know and fangirl, but rather a blood-soaked imperialist bastard. This is, after all, the guy that wrote a cheery letter about burning Ba Sing Se to the ground.


End file.
